Everyone knows that Tony Landon’s dated dozens of different men and
women since he joined the athletics department at the Falconer Institute of
Training. Everyone who’s ever gossiped with one of his exes knows that he’s
kinky, too.

Donovan’s reputation at the institute is different. The only reason people
are pretty sure he’s gay is because he drinks at the same pub as most of the
gay and bi Falconer guys, and he’s never actually said he’s straight when he’s
brushed them all off.

Tony’s been flirting with Donovan ever since Donovan joined the institute’s
archery programme. Even though a whole year has passed and Donovan’s never
given him the slightest encouragement, Tony can’t quite convince himself to
give up hope.

Donovan has his reasons for not flirting back whenever Tony hits on him—right
up until a snippet of overheard gossip lets him in on an interesting fact that
just might change everything.

The odds are stacked against two very different men ever finding
happiness together, but as far as Tony and Donovan are concerned, it’s still
worth a shot.

Author note: While this story can be read as a
standalone title, some elements might make more sense if you’ve already read
Worth Waiting For.

And an excerpt (you can also read a longer one on my website if you are so inclined):

“Here’s to more time spent sprinting and less
time spent screwing.”

The words pulled at
Donovan’s attention, dragging it back toward the same table of guys that he’d
been discretely observing ever since he’d plucked up the courage to start
drinking in that pub.

Luck hadn’t been
with Donovan that particular night. By the time he’d arrived, all the seats
that would have allowed a clear view of Tony Landon had already been claimed.
Still, the occasional glimpses he caught of Tony’s profile from his current vantage
point were something. Donovan wasn’t above taking what he could get.

As Tony’s
companions laughed and drank to the toast, Tony shook his head and slumped back
in his seat.

“To the longest
three weeks of Tony’s life,” Cosmos, a long distance runner from the Falconer
Institute of Training’s athletics team, suggested. Once more, everyone in the
group raised their drinks.

Tony drained the
last of his beer and glared at each of the men around his table. “I’m so glad
you all find our coach’s decision to torture me amusing.”

“Haslet does have a
point. You are kind of slutty,” Cosmos pointed out. “You’ll have much more
energy for training if you’re not getting any.”

“Pot, kettle,
black?” Tony shot back, without missing a beat.

Cosmos smirked.
“Call me what you like, sweetheart—I’m not the one who promised Haslet he’d
stay celibate until after the Trentmoore meet.”

Donovan looked from
Tony to Tony’s friends wishing, not for the first time, that he had the
confidence to sit with them around that table and joke about things the way
they did. But, no. It was useless, even the thought of joining them was making
his grip on his glass turn white knuckled and his throat close up.

“It’s only a couple
of weeks,” said another man at Tony’s table, Mike—the team’s shot putter, in a
more sympathetic tone of voice.

Donovan lifted his
gaze just in time to see Cosmos pat Tony on the shoulder. “Yeah, Tony. It’s
only the longest you’ll have gone without sex since you turned legal…”

Tony glared down at
him. “You’re a real bastard at times. You know that, right?”

“Yep,” Cosmos said,
more cheerfully than ever, obviously not the least bit worried by the fact he
was half Tony’s size. Everyone at the table laughed.

Tony pushed his
hand through his spiky, blond hair as if he was at his wits end. But, when he
turned to get up from the table, Donovan saw that Tony was smiling too, as if
he didn’t really mind their teasing. “I’m going to get another drink.”

“Careful, Tony,”
Cosmos called after him. “Too much of a good thing and Haslet will probably
make you give up alcohol, too.”

Tony didn’t bother
to turn around. He just held two fingers up to the whole group as he walked
away. Donovan watched him go, automatically dropping his gaze to admire the way
tight jeans stretched across Tony’s arse.

As Tony moved out
of Donovan’s line of sight, the jokes Tony’s friends had been making gradually
presented themselves for Donovan’s consideration. Tony had promised his coach
he’d give up sex for the next three weeks.

Donovan frowned at
his drink.

Tony and sex were
so closely linked in his mind, it was almost impossible for him to think of one
existing without the other. Tony not being intimately entwined with the very
essence of sex was wrong. But at the same time…

It probably
wouldn’t make any difference, but it was worth a shot. Hell, anything that
might tip the balance in his favour and make it possible for Donovan to speak
to Tony without hyperventilating was worth investigating. Donovan abandoned his
lemonade and headed after Tony.

As he rounded the
corner, he saw Tony standing halfway along the bar, waiting to be served.

He hesitated. At
the last moment, his courage deserted him. He changed course and ended up
standing about two metres to Tony’s right. Donovan stared down at the battered
wooden surface, cursing his own cowardice. Maybe if he tried to—

“Hi.”

Donovan jerked his
head up. He didn’t need to sidle down the bar. Tony now stood right alongside
him. For a few seconds, Donovan’s vocal cords refused to cooperate, just as they
had so many times before. All he could do was stare at Tony like a prime
candidate for the post of village idiot. Finally, he managed to clear his
throat.

“Hi.” It might not
have been the height of wit, but it was pretty close to a normal pitch. It could
have been worse—it had been worse on several other occasions when Tony had
tried to start conversations with him.

“How did the
nationals go?”

Donovan blinked at
Tony. “The nationals?”

“The archery
nationals, they were last week, right?” Tony asked.

Donovan nodded.
“Yes, they were.” Except nobody knew that, because while athletics might be
popular enough that everyone at the institute would recognise half the team,
archery wasn’t the kind of sport that anyone who didn’t own a bow ever noticed.

“So…?” Tony
promoted.

Donovan managed to
pull a few brain cells together. “They went well. The institute’s team came
third.”

“What about the
individual event—how did that go?” Tony prompted.

As Donovan stared
up at him, he had the strangest sensation that Tony already knew the answer to
that question. “I won,” he blurted out.

Tony failed to look
the least bit surprised. “Congratulations.”

“What can I get for
you?”

Donovan jumped at
the sudden interruption from the other side of the bar.

The bartender
looked at the empty beer bottle Tony had placed on the bar. “Same again?”

Tony shook his
head. “Coke this time, thanks.”

That meant he was
driving. Donovan had been paying attention over the months. If Tony was
driving, he stopped after one. If he wasn’t driving, he drank every one of his
friends under the table and still never slurred a word.

As Donovan watched,
Tony pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket and turned to him. “What are you
having?”

No—that was what he always said. Whatever
Tony had suggested each time he’d approached him, Donovan always panicked and
said no, regardless of the answer he actually wanted to give.

Not for the first
time, he tried to pull sensible thoughts to the front of his mind and push his
nerves aside. Tony isn’t a psychopath.
Tony isn’t a complete bastard. Tony isn’t Ryan. None of it helped. Tony can’t expect anyone to fall into bed
with him tonight, he’s not allowed to have sex. Bingo!

As the barman got
their drinks and Tony handed over the money, Donovan stared straight ahead. It might work. God help him, but this might
actually work… Apparently, the sure and certain knowledge that Tony wasn’t
going to assume they’d have sex that very moment really did make it possible
for Donovan to have a drink with him without completely freaking out.

“Come on, there’s a
free table over there.” Tony pointed to a completely different part of the pub
to where his friends were sitting.

Relaxing slightly as
he realised that he wasn’t going to have to face an entire group of guys,
Donovan made his way to the empty table. Jacket in one hand and his bottle of
Coke in the other, he shuffled his way awkwardly onto the bench that
half-encircled the corner table. Tony slid in after him, every movement fluid
and confident.

Silence. Damn.
Donovan’s nerves made it impossible for him not to attempt to fill the hush
with words, any words.

“How did you know
the nationals were last week?”

“Well, I kind of
know one of the guys on the institute’s team,” Tony said. “Although, if I’m
honest, I don’t really know him that well yet. We’ve just flirted now and
again. At least, I’ve flirted with him. Until this evening, he’s always just
nodded politely and rushed away at the first opportunity.”

Donovan met Tony’s
eyes for a horrified moment as he recognized his own behaviour being quoted at
him. “I don’t flirt.” Not anymore.

“Never?” Tony
asked. “With anyone?”

Donovan shook his
head.

“Good,” Tony said,
with an easy smile. “In that case, I won’t take it personally.” He took a sip
of his Coke.

Donovan gulped down
some of his own drink. He tried not to stare at the way Tony’s mouth caressed
the rim of his Coke bottle. He tried not to imagine that it was his cock
pressed against Tony’s lips. He failed on both counts.

“So, flirting
aside, do all bi men make you nervous, or am I special?” Tony asked.

The question hit
the air just as Donovan was taking another swig of his drink. He promptly
choked on it.

Tony reached out
and patted him helpfully on the back. Donovan caught his breath, but somehow,
Tony’s hand stayed there, resting high up, near his shoulders. The heat from
Tony’s skin soaked through the thin fabric of his shirt. Donovan waited for air
to stall in his lungs and his heart to race, but for some reason, it didn’t
happen. The only reaction his body offered up in response to Tony’s touch was a
rapid hardening of his cock. He discretely moved his jacket to rest over his
lap.

“Well?” Tony asked,
with an unrepentant little grin. “Should I feel special or not?”

Donovan took a
careful sip of his Coke while he played for time. Glancing up, he met Tony’s
eyes. He had the distinct impression that lying to Tony wouldn’t do him any
good. “Maybe you do make me more nervous than most men in here,” he confessed.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

It's a 20,000 words Male/Male, BDSM, Erotic Romance. This version is part of the Kinky Cupid series that began at Riptide Publishing with Once a Brat.

It was previously released by All Romance E-books under the title Call Me Sir, Boy! It's been re-edited and tweaked to make it a consistant part of the Kinky Cupid series, but it has not been substancially extended or altered.

(I have no idea why, but blogger has decided not to upload photos for me, but I swear the cover is gorgeous!)

Here's the blurb for Base Over Apex...

It’s Valentine’s at the Spread Eagle leather club, but the only sub Jack’s even spoken to belongs to his best friend, Marcus—and all Bret did was con him into taking a stupid bet. It is not going to be a good Valentine’s night… The moment Jack sees Ricky walking naked through the bar, he wants him. When Ricky kneels at his feet and offers him the keys to his restraints, it’s obvious that his interest is returned. It might just be the best Valentine’s Jack’s ever had… Ricky is sweet, and eager to please, and obviously new to leather. He’s the kind of guy who actually makes Jack wonder if “something at first-sight” might really be possible. But, when it suddenly becomes apparent that everything is not what it seems, the only thing Jack knows for sure if that this Valentine’s night is going to get very, very complicated.

In other news, I should have news about Worth a Shot (FIT Guys 2) for you next week - and that news will hopefully include the words "available now" :)